


Halloween

by BrynTWedge



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angel Mycroft Holmes, Dragon AU, Dragon Greg Lestrade, Dragon John Watson, Dragon Mycroft Holmes, Dragon Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Smut, Werewolf Greg Lestrade, halloween party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 03:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19220209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/pseuds/BrynTWedge
Summary: Halloween is coming up. Greg wants to be a werewolf, and Mycroft an angel.They end up having some fun with innuendo before the party, though.





	Halloween

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sanguisuga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Batty!

“What are you going to wear for Halloween this year, Myc?”

 

Mycroft paused from taking a sip of his tea. “I’m sorry? It’s… it’s August, Greg.” 

“Yeah, time to start planning.” 

“You know I dislike the holiday itself.”

“You dislike it being American. I _know_ you like the holiday.” 

 

Mycroft snorted. “It’s one and the same.”

“You can’t lie to me, Myc. I saw you last year curled around a pile of chocolates.” 

 

Greg smiled as he saw Mycroft flush pink. He patted his husband’s paw. “It’s ok to like it, you know.” 

Mycroft cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “I assume you ask because you have an idea?”

“Yes, actually. I was wanting to go as a werewolf.” 

“I see. Any particular reason?”

“Because they’re awesome.” 

“Fair enough,” Mycroft mumbled amidst a chuckle. 

 

Greg stretched out on the couch. “I’ll need time to make the costume, after all.”

“ _You’ll_ need time?” 

He grinned sheepishly. “Yes, alright, _you’ll_ need time to make the costume for me.” 

Mycroft smirked that knowing smirk, and raised his eyebrow. “I suppose I could see what I can do.” 

 

He pushed over to press a quick kiss on Mycroft’s cheek. “Thank you love.” 

“You’re welcome, dear. I assume you wish me to be something that compliments your costume?”

Greg gave him a sly look. “You can be my silver bullet.” 

Mycroft looked confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Werewolves… silver bullets?”

 

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Yes, I am perfectly aware of the association. I merely don’t understand why you wish me to attend as your murder weapon.”

“It’s because you’re the only one that can get under my skin, the only one who can get into my heart.” 

 

The confusion melted away from Mycroft’s face and was replaced with a fond grin. “That’s sweet.” He then kissed Greg softly. “However, I am still not comfortable to be dressed as anything that could do you harm.” 

“That’s ok,” Greg uttered, nuzzling Mycroft. “You can pick something else.” 

“You didn’t have a backup idea?”

“You’re the one with the backups,” Greg breathed seductively. “I’m always just seeing where things go.” Greg then slid a paw up over Mycroft’s chest. 

“Devil,” Mycroft whispered. 

“Only if you’ll be my angel.”

“Very well.” Mycroft then slid onto Greg, straddling him. “It’s decided then. Angel and werewolf for Halloween.” 

 

Greg’s excitement dropped slightly. “I was rather hoping for a bit of heavenly fun now.”

“Well, now, dear… can’t have too much of that in the meantime, can we? I’ll be no good as an angel come October if I let the devil inside too often.” 

“Hm, yes, but how about a werewolf?” Greg asked, sliding his paws over Mycroft’s sides. 

Mycroft rumbled low at the touch. “I might be able to be _tempted_ ,” he cooed. “Demonic werewolves still have that touch of the damned.” 

 

Greg continued to run his paws over Mycroft’s body. He nuzzled up by Mycroft’s ear and whispered, “I’ll show you just how damned my touch can be.”

Mycroft nibbled at the fur on Greg’s neck. “Such and evil thing you are.”

“Oh, yes, I’m a monster,” Greg played along. “Perhaps instead I need some righteousness put in me.” 

“Mrrr,” Mycroft rumbled, grinding his hips into Greg. “Need drilling by an angel, perhaps?”

“Oh yes.” Greg sighed breathily as Mycroft’s bulged slit slid over his hardening member. “I need to be filled with the heavenly.” 

 

Mycroft’s slit parted and his pink cock peeked out, pressing up against Greg’s. The hairs all over his body stood on end at the touch. He rolled his hips to allow the growing shaft to slide over his balls and touch his entrance. 

 

“The path to righteousness is _hard_ ,” Mycroft intoned, pressing the tip against the muscle. 

“I can take it,” Greg breathed through his teeth. “Hardship is second nature to a werewolf. We have a lot of our own.” 

“Yes, I can see that,” Mycroft cooed, his eyes lidded. “Perhaps I need to try and take the ‘were’ out of the ‘werewolf’. Make him a good boy again.” 

 

Greg shivered and swallowed. “That’ll be a lot of work.” 

“Going to fight me, demonic creature?”

“Always. I’ll push back against you at every turn.”

“I am prepared to go at you again and again; such is the work of the Almighty.” 

 

Greg growled low. “It’ll be like banging your head against a brick wall,” he snarled with a smile. “I’m that hard.” 

Mycroft thrust forward and slid his fully engorged member up along Greg’s shaft. “Mm, like this, perhaps?” 

 

“Uuuhhhh,” Greg moaned, and tried to thrust. 

“No, bad dog. I’m the messenger of light and will be the one giving you orders here.” 

“You’ll not muzzle me so quick,” Greg said, teeth bared. “All it takes is one bite to make you mine.” 

 

Mycroft pressed a paw up against Greg’s throat. His eyes went wide and briefly he felt panic surge. The pressure eased off the moment Mycroft recognised the hesitation, and Greg quickly was back into the game. He snaked his tongue out and coated Mycroft’s paw in saliva. 

 

“That’s only aiding your demise,” Mycroft said, smiling. He then slid the paw down and smeared the drool over Greg’s entrance. He withdrew his paw and returned it back to Greg, who smiled and slobbered over it again. 

 

“One would think that you enjoyed being corrected,” Mycroft said simply, as if he wasn’t making Greg squirm with his fingers. 

“Go to Hell, angel,” Greg huffed, being sure to add the ‘angel’ so Mycroft knew it was still part of the game. 

“You want me to fall?” Mycroft smirked, sitting up higher. “That might not be a good idea, werewolf, since you’re right below me. I might come down into you.” 

 

“Yes,” Greg breathed. He grabbed Mycroft’s thighs, trembling. He was already feeling the desperate pulsing in his cock; he _needed_ Mycroft inside him now. “Stop teasing.” 

“Now now, that won’t do,” Mycroft said, pleased with himself. “A fallen angel will be no good at spreading the seed of good inside you.” 

“I need your seed inside me,” Greg whined. He was panting, every cell screaming for Mycroft. “You’re torturing me.”

“I rather thought that was your department.” Mycroft slowly, achingly slowly, lowered down and pressed his head inside. “You’re perhaps not as far gone as I thought.”

 

“Please,” Greg begged. “Please, I need you. Fuck me, please.” 

“Well, what kind of heavenly servant would I be,” Mycroft said, his tone wavering, “if I didn’t answer prayers?” Clearly it was difficult for him to feign so calm. Mycroft then let go and plunged himself inside Greg. He moaned loudly, as much as Greg did. 

 

Greg growled and rocked himself below Mycroft’s thrusts, holding onto his forearms. Mycroft was going hard and fast — he was clearly a lot more pent up than Greg had anticipated; not that he minded. He was ready to explode himself. 

 

Mycroft panted above him. “I’m going to make you howl.”

“Arrhh,” Greg groaned. “Yes, I’m gonna.”

“Yes,” Mycroft snarled, teeth bared, slapping his hips and curling his body so that his full length plunged inside Greg and made his body press into the sofa. “Oh god.” 

 

Greg’s orgasm hit him instantly. There wasn’t much build up - the foreplay had seen to that - and he found himself overcome with pleasure as he spilled between them. He howled, as promised, loudly. 

 

Mycroft’s movements became erratic and he clenched onto the cushion, having sunk his cock into Greg to the hilt and was pressing harder down in small rocking motions. He then shouted, “Oh _god,_ ” and Greg felt him unload inside him. 

 

They lay together, spent, panting. Greg ran his paw up over Mycroft’s back gently. 

“I think I like these costumes,” Greg mumbled. 

“I have to agree,” Mycroft said, still breathless. “I believe werewolves have quite the veracious libido, as well.” 

“Oh yes,” Greg sung. “You’ll have your work cut out for you, Angel, to keep from turning to the other side when you’ll be so full of temptations and werewolf.” 

 

Mycroft chuckled. “You know werewolves aren’t actually inherently demonic, right?”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe you’ll just have to be the good angel to answer a lusty wolf’s prayers.” 

“I think I could do that.”

 

* * *

 

Mycroft initially had refused to wear the angel wings. They got in the way, and he hated the movement of them sliding over his back. But he changed his mind after a very tempting promise from his husband for after the Halloween party. He wasn’t fussed about the halo Greg had attached to his horns.

 

Greg’s costume had come up wonderfully. Mycroft had put a black sleeve over his tail, and attached a faux fur tail over it. Greg’s ears had fluffy attachments to look like pointed wolf ears, and the large black nose set off the look well. 

 

Greg walked on his hind legs all throughout the party, and howled on occasion. Mycroft smiled at how into it his husband was. 

 

John was beside him in Sherlock’s kitchen while he gazed fondly at Greg chattering away with Mike Stamford and pretending to bite him. 

 

“I would have thought a demon would have been easier for you,” John commented. Mycroft looked down at him with a slight sneer. He rumbled his displeasure. 

“I would have thought it more appropriate for _you_ to be Death,” he snapped back. 

John looked up at him, shocked. “I didn’t mean offense.”

“Oh, of course not.” Mycroft looked away with a disbelieving look. He snorted. He was tired of John thinking him evil. “I would have just hoped that by now, you’d changed your opinion of me.”

 

Sherlock slunk into the kitchen, a long hooded robe enveloping him. He’d painted his white face and paws to look like bones, much as Death is depicted. The tall scythe he’d brandished earlier in the night, which now stood by the door, was dangerously realistic. 

 

“John! My little bumble bee!” Sherlock cried. 

“I see you’ve been enjoying the punch,” Mycroft said with feigned exasperation. He smiled warmly afterwards. 

“Myckie, you’re here too. Come to perform a miracles?” 

“The only miracle I shall be performing is ensuring the lot of you get into bed safely.” 

 

Sherlock hummed and then leant heavily against John. “I want some honey now, John.” 

“Sherlock!” John hissed, eyes darting to Mycroft. 

Mycroft flushed slightly pink and cleared his throat. “I’ll go make sure Gregory doesn’t try too hard to convert Doctor Stamford.” 

 

He walked out of the kitchen, leaving his brother to attempt to undress John from his striped clothing and bee wings while said bee tried to make him wait until guests left. 

 

“Myc! Hey!” Greg called, waving. Mycroft padded up and pressed a kiss to his chest. 

“Hey, Mycroft.”

“Doctor Stamford.” Mycroft smiled into the soft human’s face. He didn’t get along so well with very many humans, but Mike Stamford was one of them. 

“I love your costume,” Stamford said to him. “Suits you.” 

“Thank you.” Mycroft preened slightly, adjusting the white gown he wore. “I very much enjoy yours too.” 

“Seems we all went for the other-worldly theme this year.” Stamford lifted up his bow and laughed. “At least I was sensible enough to go for a clothed version of Cupid.” 

“Were-Cupid,” Greg chuckled, and made a show of play-biting Mike. It was a testament to how deep the trust was between them that Mike just giggled. Most humans would give some initial reaction to a dragon moving to bite them, intended or not. 

 

“While not what you mean, you’re actually right in saying he’d be a were-Cupid by wearing clothes. ‘Were’ refers to the human part, Gregory dear.” 

Greg just rolled his eyes and pecked a kiss on Mycroft’s snout. “Always my smart angel.” 

 

There was a crash from the kitchen, and they heard John shout, “For god’s sake Sherlock, I don’t want honey on my fur!” 

The three of them burst out into a fit of giggles. “Not all of us went other-worldly,” Mycroft muttered. “But I’m betting he now wished he had.” 

“I would have thought Sherlock would have coaxed him into his old fatigues and told him to be War to go with his Death.” 

 

Mycroft nodded to Stamford. “Yes, that would have made sense.”

“I’m glad he didn’t,” Greg said. They all looked at him. “Well, you know how Sherlock gets when he’s drunk. None of us want to see just how big of a military kink your brother has.” 

 

Stamford laughed and Mycroft screwed up his face in disgust. 

“I think maybe next year we’ll enforce a strict no-alcohol policy.”

“You’ll only manage that if we host next year,” Greg commented. 

“Fine.” 

“Wait, seriously?”

There was another crash in the kitchen. Mycroft sighed. “Yes.” 

 

Greg cheered. “Haunted house Halloween party next year!” 

“I’m so there,” Stamford said, raising his glass and tapping it against Greg’s. 

“It’ll be amazing.” Greg then started listing off his ideas for decorating the house. 

 

“What have I just gotten myself into,” Mycroft mumbled to himself, and then went off to see if he could find any more punch. 


End file.
